


Dark and stormy nights (are the cosiest nights)

by seaweedredandbrown



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Can be read as a romantic relationship in the making or a queerplatonic one, Dorks, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Sharing a Bed, Stormy Weather, asexual intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweedredandbrown/pseuds/seaweedredandbrown
Summary: Stormy weather isn't conducive to productivity in the Research & Division of the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Fortunately, Dr Gottlieb knows exactly how to get what he wants from Dr Geiszler. (This makes the fic sounds way more erotic than it is-- there is absolutely no smut in this fic at all. Also, it features hot chocolate and Hermann being a little bit of a troll.)





	Dark and stormy nights (are the cosiest nights)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Werefallen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Werefallen).



Thunder struck and startled Hermann out of his reading. He sipped at his chamomile tea to fight off a shiver, pulled his cardigan tighter over his shoulder and resumed— thunder struck again.

Hermann put the book down and took another, longer sip of tea. The holographic clock cast 23:45 in bright red on the wall right next to his bed. He considered postponing going to bed a little longer yet: there wouldn’t be anyone to scold him for sleeping in, save his sense of professional ethics— and it was never satisfied anyway.

Rain started beating against the small window and Hermann turned just in time to catch a bolt of lightning dramatically revealing the raging waves. Rain alone would have been soothing enough to fall asleep to, but thunder… He shook his head and reached for his cane after giving his cup a quick wash and putting it away. There would be no rest until the weather had cleared. Fortunately, he knew exactly how and where he could find himself both useful and undisturbed by the elements; these were the perfect circumstances to work on one of his personal projects.

———

Hermann walked into the deserted laboratory and made a beeline for the coffee machine. He switched the holo-model of the Breach on and checked the weather forecast while the machine made distressed noises of various intensity as it prepared him a hot chocolate with added sugar. He considered all those pod drinks a waste and would rather have the real thing, but desperate situations called for drastic remedies.

Steaming, overly-sweet liquid comfort in hand, he sat at his desk. The weather forecast informed him that the storm was meant to last until at least the following morning. He only needed the rest of his little plan to work, then.

He was done with his hot chocolate when the wall trembled with the coming of the elevator. Hermann started to mentally count down from ten to zero. He was perfectly mid-way between four and three when the door opened with a creak and the esteemed Dr. Newton Geiszler made an entrance. Hermann made a mental note of the three point five seconds deviation from his prediction and gave him a brief nod. Newton paid him no mind as he grumbled all the way to his desk, bundled in a black hoodie that cheerfully proclaimed ‘GENDER IS A UNIVERSE’ on a starry pattern.

Hermann pretended to return his attention to the holo-model. He listened to the ruffling of papers and the low buzzing of a computer starting up; then the soft thud of a mug, a gulp— and a loud groan.

Hermann bit back a smile.

“That’s not my coffee,” Newt said, and there was more ruffling about. “Hermann, why is your tea on my desk? That is not my coffee, that is disgusting, that’s what it is— you know I hate tea, man, why are you doing this to me?”

“I clearly remember having my four o’clock cup taken hostage until I listened to your latest theory about kaiju reproduction,” Hermann answered dryly, his eyes still on the display. “Thus, I believe the correct question would be, why are you doing this to yourself, Newton?”

“I hate you,” Newt moaned.

Silence fell and Hermann resumed his experiment and began counting again.

One, two, three, four— right on time, Newton got up and mumbled his way to the little sink in their made-up kitchen corner.

Five, six, seven. Hermann heard the cup being emptied and the coffee machine switched on. He refrained from making any comment and waited for the loud beeping that signaled the drink was ready.

Hermann could see it in his mind’s eye: Newt rushing for the cup, black-painted nails flashing on the dirty white of the mug; grabbing then loosening his grip as his brain eventually registered the temperature of the thing; switching hand to hand every half-second on his way back to his desk, then stopping right behind Hermann.

Eight, nine—

“Hey,” Newt said as if hit by a sudden realization, “it’s past midnight. It’s our day off! We can’t be working on our day off, dude, Pentecost will have our heads.”

Hermann’s attention remained fully on the hologram. He hummed and launched the latest stimulation for Operation Pitfall in order to maintain his cover. Everything was currently going according to, for lack of a better word, _plan_. If he were to remain silent from another five to six seconds—

Newt took a loud sip of his cup, still standing behind Hermann, and groaned again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“Language, Newton,” Hermann scolded, voice as unamused as he could. It was easier as he still wasn’t facing Newt.

“Oh, for sexual intercourse’s sake,” Newt snapped back, “that’s not— you put chocolate in my coffee machine! Dude. I mean, _dude_. You— no, you don’t, you don’t go and put chocopods in the coffee machine, that’s just not done.”

“Our coffee machine,” Hermann answered as he adjusted the parameters on his hologram, “emphasis on ‘our’.”

“To be used for coffee, Hermann, not chocolate! It’s in the name, you know? ‘Coffee’ machine? Seriously, if you wanted chocolate, you could have gone to the kitchen on your floor, not here,” Newt said. “Why are you even up and about at this hour? Go to bed and let me blast my music in peace.”

Hermann let out a well-rehearsed sigh, very obvious in his focus on the simulation. “Yes. And sleep is one of the most important variables in the management of mood-based disorders, and yet— here we are.”

Only then did he shoot Newt a glance, the first since he had stepped into the lab that night. Newt snapped his mouth shut, drank the rest of his cup in one go and yelped in pain. Hermann shook his head and turned back to the holo-model.

“I don’t have a— dammit, that hurts!” Newt groaned and blew on his drink. “Fine, fine, maybe I do have a mood-based disorder, maybe I should be sleeping right now, but guess what? I can’t! I just can’t, okay? I can’t sleep when— I can’t sleep. I just can’t.”

Hermann heard the tightness in Newt’s voice. He was so close, so close to getting him to admit his fears out loud! At least he was truly getting the hang of this little song and dance; perhaps this was enough progress for tonight.

“That does seem troublesome,” he admitted very carefully. He turned towards Newt with deliberate, calculated slowness, and he avoided the red eyes and the puffy cheeks to rest his gaze somewhere beyond Newt’s left shoulder. The last thing he needed now was to scare him off with direct eye contact. “And what do you suggest we do about it?”

———

The couch in the lab— the old, battered, perpetually smelly antiquity of a couch, in this perpetual mess of a lab— was far from being as comfortable as Hermann’s own bed. Yet any discomfort could be overlooked as long as he had something to prop up his leg. There was a familiar comfort in Newt’s warmth next to him, after all; in sitting with his eyes half-closed, lulled into slumber by the yellow glow of specimen tanks and the low buzzing of scientific equipment. Newt always tossed and turned, but it never woke Hermann up in a jolt the way thunder or lightning did; and because Newt had also accessible accommodations on the highest floor, his bedroom was as exposed to the elements as Hermann’s was. Once he had come to the conclusion that Newt was himself terrified of thunder, it had only taken Hermann three or four iterations to find out exactly how to talk him into sharing the couch, so that they may both get some rest without going through the indignity of bed-sharing.

(’Indignity’ was too strong a word, surely, but ‘intimacy’ was a much too terrifying one.)

———

There’s no underground lab in the little house they share in rural Bavaria. Well, there’s Newt’s “Newtcave”, but it’s a work permanently in process anyway, full of boxes and junk and not even a decent chair for Hermann to sit on if he wants to visit— anyone would think he did it on purpose!— and it isn’t very soundproof anyway. There are storms, though, in Bavaria, and when thunder strikes, it seems to echo through the whole house.

Hermann is startled out of his book; not a minute later, Newt steps into the room and crawls in bed next to him without a word, sweater, denims, socks, glasses and all.

“Take your clothes off in bed, dear,” Hermann chides, but there’s no heat to it.

Newt groans and complies. Thunder strikes again as he is struggling out of his denims and he hurries back to Hermann’s side, hiding his face against his shoulder.

“There, there,” Hermann says soothingly. He buries a hand in Newt’s messy black hair and tries to steady his own heartbeat.

He pets Newt’s head— and tenses again himself when thunder strikes a third time. A shiver runs down his spine and he wills himself into relaxing. There’s a heartbeat’s worth of silence, and then Newt bursts into laughter. He’s grinning and teary-eyed when he looks up from Hermann’s shoulder, and Hermann can’t help but feel a little bit embarrassed.

“What is it?” he asks, fully ready to smack him with his book if needs be.

“I knew it,” Newt whispers, and he cranes his neck to kiss Hermann’s cheek.

“Knew what, dear?” Hermann’s hand is still on the book. One is never too careful.

“Knew my handsome, smart, brave husband was scared of thunder,” Newt answers before laying down in bed again.

“That is—”

The storm interrupts Hermann and he relents. He puts the book and his glasses away, and switches the light off before settling in, Newt nuzzling his way to bury his face in the crook of his neck, his leg propping Hermann’s at the right angle.

The weather rages on outside. But in the quiet of their bedroom, in that perfect silence only broken by the soft rhythm of their breathing, in the velvet dark no lightning can pierce— together, no fear can reach them, and they are at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was written for the amazing Werefallen and betaread by the always so very kind & helpful Nathan! If you'd like to know more about me and my writing, please have a gander over my [tumblr](http://seaweedredandbrown.tumblr.com/post/174141373282/now-offering-commissions)! Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments. :D


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